An Argument
by Grace3
Summary: Ella is having trouble adjusting after the curse is broken; Char makes a mistake. Oneshot.


**AN ARGUMENT**

**by Grace3**

Ella is having trouble adjusting after the curse is broken; Char makes a mistake. Oneshot.

_AN: Recently reread the book and my itch to write about these two resurfaced :)_

_[Characters, etc., belong to Gail Carson Levine.]_

* * *

I could hear voices calling in the distance as I urged my mount onward through the brambles and thickets. One of the horse's ears was pricked backward, listening to my soft entreaties to keep moving. When I leaned forward to pat his neck, he rolled an eye toward me and snorted for good measure. I understood he was letting me know that he'd much rather be back in his stall at the Royal Stables, munching on fresh, sweet-smelling hay while the grooms curried his coat and mane to a gleaming white.

"Why on earth would you want to be cooped up in your stall when you're out here in the wild, having adventures with a plucky heroine?" I muttered to him under my breath. All I got in reply was a heftier snort than the last. Alright, so maybe "plucky" was stretching it.

The horse shook his mane, as if to remind me of the breadth of the lie. Because, really, the truth was, I wasn't having adventures, either. I was running away.

In my imagination, my escape would have gone much more elegantly. For instance, I would not have tripped five steps after turning my back on Char and storming off – which is what really happened. Instead, I would have twirled out of his grasp and ran with the grace of a gazelle, too light-footed to be caught.

I would have burst into one of the Royal stables, where a magnificent horse would be ready, waiting, and saddled for me, as if by providence. We would lock eyes, the beast and I, and he would lower his beautiful head in acquiescence. Then I would mount and we would burst back into daylight, cantering away from everyone and everything, including Char, who would be beside himself. My steed and I would disappear into the forest shadows at the edge of the grounds, leaving nothing but a whisper of wind behind us, created by our speed. The groundskeepers would swear that all they had seen was a streak of white (the stallion's coat), green (my dress), and black (my hair streaming behind me).

Alas, nothing in reality is ever as good as it is in daydreams.

After I had tripped, Char had caught up to me easily and grasped my arm under the elbow to steady me. This had made me angrier, of course. I didn't desire his help, not when he was denying me what I wanted. What I _needed._

"Ella, be reasonable," he had said. He hadn't even raised his voice. _How_ could he be so calm and patient – couldn't he see that _he_ was the one being unreasonable?

"_Don't_,"I said, wrenching my arm away. On top of being angry with my new husband of five months, I was also disappointed in myself for tripping. I had thought that Finishing School had taken care of my innate clumsiness, but after the curse had been broken, a lot of the stumbling and wobbling and general lack of balance had started to rear its head again. _Stupid curse_, I thought.

Once free of Char, I resumed stalking off, but without a fixed destination. Our argument had begun as an innocent stroll through the grounds, so I was already near the stables. The idea popped into my head a minute later. I would show Char. I would show _all_ of them.

I slipped into the barn without drawing any notice. Only a few groomsmen were about, and none of them were in my immediate vicinity. I chose the first horse that turned its head my way, and clumsily saddled him, calling on my lessons from when I was a child. I had trouble mounting because of my gown, and because it wasn't a side-saddle, but I finally managed to hoist myself into a position that vaguely felt workable. "All aboard," I muttered, wrapping the reins around my hands. That's when the stable boy saw me.

"Hey!" he shouted. Stupid boy. Who had hired him? Didn't he know anything about horses? The unexpected noise and the echo of it spooked half the poor beasts. Including the one I was sitting on.

Luckily, I had saddled him in the aisle, not in his stall, and the barn door stood ajar at the far end. Peanut (that was my noble steed's name – _where_ did they find all of these idiot stable hands?) reared, and I just barely managed to hang on. Then he was barreling through the stable, out the door, and across the stable yard, upsetting a flock of chickens pecking the dirt for bugs. All I saw and heard was a flurry of white and an abundance of squawking. I managed not to scream until the pasture fence loomed up ahead of us. I yanked on the reins and pressed with my knees, trying to get Peanut to bear left, but he ignored me altogether and neatly leapt the fence. Meanwhile, I let out a banshee yell that would have alerted the entire kingdom.

I had never learned how to jump, so when we landed on the other side of the fence my rear bounced off the saddle pathetically, which only made Peanut run faster. I hung on for dear life as we tore across the field and flew into the thicket at the edge of the grounds. I could hear people yelling and cursing from somewhere behind us, but could not find it within me to turn around in the saddle and see for myself. Eventually, the closeness of the trees forced Peanut to slow considerably, and the leafy foliage soon blocked most of the noise. We were alone. Mostly.

So Peanut and I trod along at a plod, and the vague snatches of faint shouts and yells continued, even as I tried to ignore them - especially when I could occasionally make out my name.

I sighed. I was at a point where I recognized my own stubbornness and was rightly ashamed of it, but was too embarrassed to turn back. All I had wanted, I reasoned, was my own horse. It wasn't such an extraordinary request, was it?

The stables were full of horses. Surely there was one that could be spared for the Court Linguist. I could not think the word _Princess_, though that is what the majority of the castle's inhabitants stubbornly called me anyway. That is what the King called me. He was good to me in every other way, but didn't have time to court my "eccentricities." The Queen, my husband, and my sister-in-law, however, appeased me. They were too kind and acquiescent to thwart my wishes.

Though I had insisted on the alternate title, it did feel like somewhat of a sham. Every day, all day, despite my weary protests, it was "Your Highness" this and "Princess" that. It was "Madam" and bows and deep nods and curtsies. It was lowered eyes and reverent faces. It was formality and politeness and correctness and it made me want to scream. _I'm just the Court Linguist! _I wanted to shout. _I'm not who you want me to be!_

But I was. I _was _a princess, and that was the hardest thing to bear about all of this. Being Char's wife was all I had ever wanted for a very long time, but I had never considered what that would entail. What it would require of me, and what that meant so soon after I had broken the curse.

I loved Char. I loved him enough to bear the bad parts, the hard parts, the uncomfortable parts. I would bear much, much worse for him. I _had_ borne worse. Sometimes, however, all I wanted was the smallest bit of respite. Just a jolt of freedom. Just for a second, a moment. That was all I had been asking of him, when I asked for a horse. It represented an opportunity, a reprieve - however fleeting. I had hoped Char would understand.

Instead, he had shaken his head and looked at me with regretful eyes. "Ella, you said you've barely ridden a horse since you were 6 years old. I don't want you to break your neck." He spoke again quickly before I could retort with the rebuttal I had ready. "And ponies don't count."

I set my teeth, trying to match his measured tones. "I won't break my neck; I remember how to ride. Don't you see-" I cast about, despairing. I could find no way to explain what I really needed in words.

We had been strolling through the gardens, and my arm had been laced through his - but it had gone rigid with indignation. Char seemed to sense that something deeper was wrong. He slowed us to a halt and grasped one of my hands, holding it cupped between his own, very gently. "I want to grant you all that you desire. Can't you see how hard it is for me to say 'no' to you?"

He knew every detail of how the curse had tortured me, how others had made use of it to extort me and use me and hurt me. How even those I loved had hurt me because of it. He knew how hard it was for me to obey, when I had been doing it unwillingly all of my life. I could see that denying me was costing him - his eyes were pained - but I didn't care. He didn't understand, not fully. He thought I was being silly and impulsive. I pulled away from his hands.

"That's not the point," I said. "I hate that I have to ask your permission at _all_."

Char moved so he could look me in the eye, but I would not lift my gaze to his. "I don't want you to have to ask me, either, but this is the way things are," he said. "This is the world we live in. I can't just flout that because you're my wife and our relationship is different—"

"Fine," I snapped.

He had looked very hurt at that, I recalled, and I regretted my words, but not my anger. I hadn't wanted to start an argument. I just… I had been floundering.

The last person I thought would give me another order to follow had done so, just another to pile onto the list of those that flew at me daily, ones that I was free to ignore all the same, ones that came disguised under the mantle of "proper etiquette" and "duty" and "propriety," but I struggled with anyway. It was the confinement of court life and the reminder of the tiny cage I had lived in when I had lived with the curse. They weren't the same type of cages; not at all, but my memories and my past left me feeling muddled and sometimes, unable to distinguish between the two.

He hadn't understood. I had so hoped that he would.

I pulled out of my thoughts and refocused on the forest that surrounded me, the thousands of shades of green and brown, the web of leaves and branches, the thin shards of sunlight that pierced through the canopy and dappled the forest floor. The musty smell of damp leaves intermingled with the spicy scent of pine needles. Peanut was moving slower and slower, meanwhile, meandering along, much like my thoughts. I sighed again, deeply, pulled Peanut to a grudging halt, and slid off the saddle, most ungracefully. My rear end was killing me, to put it lightly.

I had torn my gown, and my hair was in knots. I tied the reins to a nearby branch, leaving Peanut to munch clumps of weeds, and gingerly seated myself on a large protruding tree root. I set to work combing out my tangled hair with my fingers. "A veritable bird's nest," I remarked companionably to Peanut. He twitched his tail with irritation. I was not in his good graces.

"I'd say it resembles these brambles more than a nest," came a voice from behind me. I let out a startled squeak and fell off my seat. My rump did not thank me for that.

I moaned in pain from where I lay in the bracken as a shadow fell across my face. A hand reached down toward me. A familiar hand. Come to think of it, the voice was familiar, too…

"Ella, are you going to just lie there and be dramatic?" There was a hint of amusement in his tone. _Fine_, I thought. I would be amusing as well as exasperating and stubborn and silly and impulsive.

I grimaced and reached up. Char gripped my hand tightly and pulled. When I was righted, he put both hands on my waist to steady me. His clear blue eyes searched mine.

I stared at his face. I loved and hated what the dimple in his left cheek was doing to my insides. It was hard to remember the fullness of my anger when I looked at him. He lifted one hand to pluck a downy white chicken feather from my dark hair. He released it, letting it float to the ground. His freckles were so adorable – _dammit._

He broke the spell when he let go of me quickly and stepped away, turning his back. "I came to fetch you," he said quietly. "That is, if you'll consent to return with me."

I remained silent. Of course Char had found me first. The set of his fine, broad shoulders and the plane of his back seemed to be speaking volumes. I saw one of his hands twitch.

"I never want to pretend that I'm your master. I never want to give you orders. You're my equal." His voice trembled, so slightly that no one else would have noticed it. "You chose me, you chose this life, even after the curse. We make decisions together. If you want a horse, if you want a bit of freedom, you shouldn't have to ask." He fell silent. He kept his back turned to me, waiting.

While he was speaking, my vision seemed to have gone blurry and misted. I blinked once, stupidly. I stumbled forward and blundered into his back. My arms wrapped around his waist. I let out a tiny sob as I buried my face between his shoulder blades. He smelled of pine, mint, and soap, with a faint tang of sweat and leather.

I felt his torso rise and fall as he took a deep, long breath. His large, rough hands, too calloused and brown to belong to a prince with a properly princely life, found my smaller ones and gripped them tightly. We stood that way for a long time, until he turned in my arms to face me. He tilted my chin up to his, and pressed his lips to mine. His mouth was strong and sweet and urgent. His kiss reminded me of the strength and the rightness of the marvel of _us_. His hands tangled in my hair and we moved closer together, kissing feverishly in the silence of the wood.

That is, until Peanut nosed me in the back with a particularly loud, annoyed snort.

We broke apart, laughing. When we returned to the stables (on _foot, _with a few – _ahem_ - detours), I ordered one of the groomsmen to bring Peanut fresh hay - and an apple or two. "After that he must be moved to a larger stall," I said. I had put the poor animal through a lot, after all. The servant raised his eyebrows ever so slightly, but recovered himself when Char cleared his throat. Peanut was, Char explained, _my_ horse.

He turned to me and smiled mischievously, but addressed the groomsman when he spoke. "Have my mount and Peanut saddled and ready tomorrow morning. Our Court Linguist is going to learn the proper way to ride."


End file.
